


Are You Afraid of the Dark?

by pjstillnoon



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjstillnoon/pseuds/pjstillnoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does Mac sleep with a nightlight on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You Afraid of the Dark?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cloe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cloe).



_“You’re in bed?” Mackenzie asks surprised._

_“It’s the middle of the night,” Will points out._

_“Why is there music playing?”_

_“Same reason your nightlight’s on right now.”_

  **********

 Mackenzie toys with his hand. Such large hands. And thick fingers. And manicured fingernails, which might be odd on someone else, but because he’s a television anchor, she doesn’t think as much. Big hands means big… That’s definitely true in this case. And her breast fits within his palm; her hip snugly within his grip. She imagines what his hand would look like with a wedding band (sexy, probably); isn’t sure if she’s relieved he’s never been married before, or if she should be worried that he’s never been married before. Men his age tend more towards having been divorced, if they’re currently single. How does he get to his age and not get married at some point? A serious relationship? It might be too soon for them to have that kind of conversation.

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

Mackenzie laughs and shifts her head back along his bicep so she can look at him. “No,” she scoffs, and with that she can convey that he is absolutely ridiculous for asking and she has no idea what he even means.

“The nightlight,” Will slides his hand free from hers and gestures to the wall.

Mackenzie looks over at it, like she had no idea it was there (it’s not switched on; not since Will started sleeping over), but when she turns back to him the laughter is gone from her eyes and she gives a coy shrug; doesn’t answer. Sometimes she feels small – young – next to him. She’s thirty-two, not really young anymore, but he’s twelve years older than her, and sometimes she just feels... Will reaches up with his right hand and curls hair behind her ear, thick fingers brushing against the softness of her cheek for a second and then he takes his hand back and watches her, blue eyes so earnest she feels warm under his gaze, as he lays on his side, naked in her bed. The sheet is slung low over his waist and he has a very nice body for a guy his age; a former athlete’s body.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says softly, not given up on getting an answer.

Mackenzie gives him a slight smirk and folds her hands over her stomach. She tilts her chin up imperiously, indicating she’s going to stay tight-lipped. He’ll have to work harder than that to get it out of her.

“Tell me!” Will almost growls, ducking his head to her neck, flicking the sheet up so it flies in her face, and knocks her hands to the side. He pushes his nose against her skin, then lips, his hands roam over her stomach and then her side, tickling. She shrieks and laughs, writhes to fend him off and fails. He’s much bigger than her and she likes that about him too; makes her feel safe. She catches an elbow in his shoulder as they wrestle, her jaw knocks off an eyebrow ridge but she’s laughing too hard to care much and it doesn’t perturb him anyway.

“Mercy!” Mackenzie finally chokes out, her breath catching in her chest as she giggles and squirms against him, knees pushing against his thighs, hands failing against the strength of his arms. “Mercy!” She cries louder, laughing ferociously as he finds an opening and feathers his fingers against her ribs.

Will withdraws slowly, pushing her back as much as he moves away, stops her from landing a wayward, unintentional punch. He leans on his left elbow over her, the sheet covering nothing at all now (it’s not covering her either), and looks down at her steadily while they both catch their breath. Mackenzie pulls her hair back out of her face, tugging it back and letting it fall where it will. Then she reaches up to straighten his out for him too, combing her fingers through his blond locks (which are really soft). He just watches her, amused, and smiling, and waiting, his blue eyes aglow in a way that makes her grin stupidly at him. He’s so very in love with her, and she knows it. She loves him too, but she doesn’t always know what to do with it. When it catches her off guard, she’s not prepared for it at all. Like now, when she just stares at the way he looks at her. It makes her chest feel tight and her stomach tense; she might confess anything to him at any moment.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Will says gently, brushing the pads of his fingers down her bare arm, making goose-bumps spring up under his touch; her heart is already pounding. “If it’s personal,” he adds and looks away, withdraws his hand. “If it’s something – If someone did something –”

“God no! It’s nothing like that,” Mackenzie interrupts, horrified. She shifts so she’s leaning on her elbow as well, mirroring him for a moment until he lays on his back. “No, it’s not because, _someone_ – that’s never – There’s no _sinister_ reason.”

“I was just asking.”

“I’ve shared a room with someone my whole life.” She shakes her dark hair back over her shoulder when it insists on falling forward into her face. “When I graduated from the cot, I moved in with my older sisters but when my parents _moved_ again, and we got a bigger place, I had to share with my _younger_ sister, and she was just a baby herself. But before she came to share with me, there was this brief period where I was there by myself and it – I wasn’t afraid of the dark. I just didn’t like being alone,” she raises her left shoulder and then drops it. It’s not a dismissive shrug, it’s – it is what it is.

Will continues to watch her quietly, brushes his fingers against the softest inside of her arm; tactile. She likes that about him too. She takes his fingers, slides hers against his, and he curls their hands together.

“There’s more,” she says, raising an eyebrow, wanting to know if he’s interested in hearing it; she feels nervous, revealing these layers of herself.

“Tell me,” he lays out a hand, welcoming the words, gesturing for her to go on even as he still holds on to her hand.

“My younger sister is four years _younger_ , so when she moved into the bedroom with me, she wanted to keep the nightlight. I could hardly refuse, because she _was_ afraid of the dark. And I got used to it, sleeping with a little light.”

Will nods when she stops talking. “So why now? Still? I mean still. Why do you still have it?”

“Because I’ve shared a room my _whole_ life. I shared with my sisters and when I went to college I shared a _dorm_ room. After that, when I flatted, it was _six_ of us to a two bedroom place – living in London is _expensive_ ,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s not that I’m afraid of the dark –”

“You just don’t like to feel alone,” Will finishes gently, but his look is piercing and she suspects he knows a thing or two about what she is talking about. She gives a tight-lipped smile. But yes, she nods, that’s it. She doesn’t like to feel alone. It may seem silly, but sleeping with the light, it’s nice; comforting.

Later, when they break up, the light goes back on, and she lays awake long into the night hollowly staring at it, thinking about Will, knowing he feels as lonely as she does, and hating herself for it. For what she did to both of them. For a long time, the light isn’t comforting anymore, it merely reminds her that she needs it again.


End file.
